Two: The Wolfe Approaches

Waking up with a wicked hangover is never fun, yet, Wolfe forgets it every time he takes that first sip of liquor and doesn't stop. But a Wainright is never seen alone.  His trusty head of security and long-time friend, Tiger is always with him. He has often depended on Tiger to do the right thing, even if Wolfe insists otherwise.

However, as his eyes open to slits, he calls Tiger a "Bloody bastard" for not closing the drapes in his bedroom. New York City that summer morning is as bright as ever. He reaches for his mobile on the side table to check the time, but doesn't find it there. Whoever put him in bed was smart enough to leave him water and a package of seltzer on the table. He vows never to drink again as he gulps the fizzy drink.The pounding in his head is unforgiving.  He opens his eyes to the light, muttering expletives as his eyes adjust to the brightness. 

When he sits up, he realizes that he's still in yesterday's clothes. Tiger must have dumped him in bed. Claire provided the seltzer. He's sure of it. After rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he runs his hand over his overgrown stubble, reminding himself to schedule a visit to the barber for a clean shave. With his face covered by his hands, a fleeting memory enters his mind. A beautiful woman with fiery red hair and beautiful green eyes makes the friend in his pants stir. Is she from a dream?  Wolfe palms the bulge over the fabric of his trousers.

"There's no time."  He looks out the window, and then down to the strained hard on.  "Up and at 'em, Wolfe," he orders himself, trying to rid his mind of whatever allure the vision brings. It takes him a few tries to regain balance in the spinning room, and then pads to the bathroom to take a much-needed shower.

****

"Have you seen my mobile, Claire?" he asks while he descends the stairs and walks towards the modern kitchen where his housekeeper, an older woman in her late-fifties, is cooking.  The fragrant hits him and makes his mouth water.

"Sorry, dear. I didn't see it on your table last night. Maybe Tiger forgot to leave it," Claire tells him, pushing a plate of pasta on the kitchen island towards his way.

The digital clock on the wall oven catches his attention.  "Is that the time? Bloody hell. I've been out that long?"

Wolfe is disgusted with himself for sleeping in. It has been a while since he has done anything like that.  He fears that must have been thoroughly smashed the night before. While in the shower, he tries to recall what happened to him. He remembers going to Club Sin with a couple of business clients, getting right pissed with whatever was placed in front of him--shots, spirits, wine. A woman in a red dress caught his eye at one point during the night. Clear as day, he reals her making her way to where his group sat. She isn't the woman in his dreams. He briefly recalls talking about tattoos, and then leaving the club with the her. The rest of it is not clear, and he hopes Tiger can fill in the blanks for him. First and foremost--where his mobile is.  His days are ran by that piece of technology.

"Glad to see you alive." Tiger's voice booms in the open space.

"Have you seen my mobile?" Wolfe asks his head of security, not bothering to look up from his plate.

"That's what you think is more important? Hey, Claire. Can I have a plate of that too?" Tiger sits next to Wolfe, and waits for the plate from Claire.  He mouths a "thanks" to the woman who acts more like a mother to Wolfe rather than the dependable employee.

With a forkful of pasta halfway to his mouth, Wolfe smirks at Tiger. "What did I do?"

"You mean, what did you almost do?" Tiger pierces pasta with his fork, keeping a serious face.  "You almost made a permanent mistake."

"Was I having sex without protection?" Wolfe grunts at the thought. Even in his most intoxicated state he has never been that careless, he thinks.

"Ha! If only. You almost got a tattoo." Tiger shakes his head then laughs at his friend's astonishment. "Good thing that chick stopped it from happening."

"What chick? The woman from the club?  I distinctly remember a woman in a red dress."

"Nah, she brought you to the tattoo place. The other girl--might be the shop owner--stopped her. She answered your phone when I called and led me to your sorry ass." Tiger lets the information sink in.

"She answered my mobile? Who does that?" Wolfe says, incredulous.

"Yeah. It's probably still there. I didn't think to ask for it last night. I just wanted to haul your ass home before you threw up."

"I need my mobile." Wolfe eats a couple more forkfuls then pushes the plate away. "Thanks, Claire. Let's go, Tiger." He stands and strides to the door without checking if his friend has finished his meal and follows him. It is his job to follow him. He doesn't bother asking Tiger how the chick from the club eluded the big man. To a certain sober level, Wolfe's sure it was with his own drunken persistence.

The drive to the tattoo parlour takes less than twenty minutes even though the streets are full of cars and tourists. The city is in full swing. Partiers from the previous night have awoken. They laugh at the sight of several women obviously taking the walk of shame, designer dresses hanging off their shoulders and shoes clutched in their hands. He gets out of the car when they stopped in front of an art deco storefront with RED INK STUDIO emblazoned on the windows.

"Who owns this?" Wolfe turns to Tiger who doesn't seem to have any plans of leaving the car.

Tiger shrugs. "Didn't get a name. I'm sure she'll remember you. If not, just tell her you were the drunken idiot who almost got inked last night."

"Why do I employ you again?" His snide remark only makes his friend laugh before Wolfe slams the door.

Inside the reception area, Wolfe is astonished to see a clean, well-lit environment. He thinks of it more like a spa, rather than a tattoo studio with cushiony leather sofas, bright walls and soothing music playing from the speakers. The only signs that the place isn't a spa are the photos adorning the walls. They are evenly placed, framed in thick black wooden frames.  Most photos are in printed in black and white. They are exquisitely-taken photos of tattoos on different areas of the human body. Works of art, if he doesn't know any better.

"Can I help you?" A girl with blue hair pops up from behind the desk.

"Oh, I didn't see you there," Wolfe admits and is met with a quirk of a pierced eyebrow. "I was here last night and might have left my mobile."

"Name." The greeter turns to a computer screen, her fingers set to type.

"I didn't get a tattoo." She stares at him blankly. "I came in with a woman... I was a bit inebriated."

"That was you? The drunk dude?"

Wolfe feels like he should be embarrassed by how the girl snickers at his presence.  But Wolfe doesn't embarrass quickly. "You saw me?"

"No, I was off last night. Red told me what happened though." Wolfe has a feeling the girl is privy to a joke about him, as the girl continues to eye him and snorts out a laugh.

"Red?" He furrows his brows at the mention of the unusual name.

The receptionist stops mocking him momentarily.  "Yeah. She owns the place. What did you say you lost?"

"My mobile... my cellphone." His hand gestures about.

"Let me ask her. Stay here." She points a steady finger at Wolfe and walks around the desk to the very back of a long hallway. When she slides open a door, Wolfe is surprised to hear a man grunting and swearing along with a distinct whirring sound. "Hey, Red. The guy from last night is here, asking if he left his mo-bile." The whirring stops. Wolfe can't hear what the response is but is glad to see the girl heading back towards him. "She'll be out."

"Is she murdering someone in there?" Wolfe cannot hold off his curiosity.

The girl snorts. "No. Just some pussy who can't handle the pain." Then she laughs as she returns her attention back to the monitor on the desk.

Wolfe chuckles with her. He takes a seat on one of the cream sofas, which is indeed comfortable as he suspected, while he peruses a sports magazine. When a burly black man staggers to the receptionist, Wolfe stifles a laugh. He has never thought the big man couldn't take a bit of pain. Wolfe can see gauze bandaging the man's left bicep. Whatever the tattoo is under the gauze doesn't appear too large.

"You're looking for your phone?" a feminine voice asks while he wonders about the man's fresh tattoo.

At that instant, Wolfe is grateful that he has decided to sit and wait. The surprisingly familiar face before him is more beautiful and more alluring than that of his visions of the woman earlier that morning. To make his point valid, he feels a twitch in his pants. There is no mistaking is quick reaction.  It's definitely the same woman.

Her red hair looks silkier than he remembers, and her eyes are brighter too. The rest of what he sees isn't too bad either. Long legs are encased in a pair of skin-tight jeans. A plain black t-shirt struggles to constrict her ample breasts. His eyes fall to her left arm, covered in colourful intricate designs down to red-tipped fingernails. She finishes her look with a pair of custom-designed Converse. She's the type of woman he doesn't go for but he can definitely take a couple of tumbles in the bedroom with.  Undoubtedly those would be most exciting. After an awkward silence, he stands to his full height.

"Yes, my friend thinks I left it here." He gives her his killer smile, one that renders women speechless, but all he receives is indifference.

"It's in my office. I found it this morning when it wouldn't stop ringing." She turns to saunter to the end of the hall. He follows. She didn't exactly ask him to but he does anyway, enjoying the sway of her hips as she walks in front of him.

When she looks back, shock appears on her face. He stands only inches away, enough for him to reach up and touch her lips.

"I guess you can come in." She looks across the hall before opening a door.

They enter a room with a Tiffany lamp on a wooden desk, leather chairs, and a big screen TV displaying different parts of the studio hangs on the wall. The rest of the walls are covered in dark fabric with different-sized paintings on them. She walks behind the desk, and opens a drawer to fetch his mobile.

"Here you go. I had to turn it off. It wouldn't stop vibrating. Got on my nerves," she says, handing him the phone. Normally he would have been irritated by anyone turning it off, but he isn't concerned about any of his missed contacts at the moment. A more enticing possibility has presented herself before him.

"Thank you, Miss--" He locks gazes with her, sending desire across the desk.

"Thorne. Mildred Thorne but everyone calls me Red." She smiles politely. "Let me walk you out." Red passes him but he just can't let her go.  Not yet. His hand wraps around her inked forearm. She shoots him a devilish glare.  Her nostrils flare.  Her eyebrows rise up to her forehead.

"Aren't you going to ask who I am?" His hand tightens on her arm.

Her eyes narrow at Wolfe. "I don't care," she spits out.  "All I need to know is you're a man who makes incredibly stupid decisions."

"How so?" Wolfe challenges, still enjoying the exciting current flowing from his hand that wraps around her arm, down to the bulge in his trousers.

The woman called Red lifts her free hand and counts off the reasons, "One, you got pissed drunk. Two, you came to my studio for a tattoo, drunk. Three, you came in with Mel, drunk. And four, you're still holding onto my arm."

Her eyes train on his hand. When he doesn't budge at her reply, she looks up to meet his eyes to send another warning. But the intensity in what she sees causes her look elsewhere, down to his lips. Big mistake.  Wolfe realizes what she's done. In one release of a breath, he closes the gap between them before pressing his lips on hers. 

She tastes exquisite. When she doesn't fight him off, he pins her against the door, pushing his erection against the front of her hip. His hands grasp at everything he can, her buttocks, her shirt, over her ribs and up her breasts. Her hands run through his thick hair, pulls and tugs it as they kiss and nibble at each others' lips.  Their tongues dancing inside the warmth of her mouth.

Wolfe lets go of her for a quick second, and then his lips travel down her throat, ending at the base. She hisses when he licks the hollow of her throat, and sucks at the protruding bone of her left collarbone. His hands find her pert nipples. When he pinches them, she groans in his ear. Wolfe repeats the action, enticing her to push into his hands. He starts to lift her shirt, but her hands leave his hair to stop him.

"Wait. No," she says to him and pushes him off. "I don't even know you."

"Then get to know me." Wolfe leans forward but she only blocks him with raised hands.

"You should go." Red averts her eyes when she opens the door wide for him.

Wolfe bites down on his swollen lips. He gives her a hard stare and doesn't make a move until she looks at him. "This isn't over," he tells her before leaving the room and striding straight out of the studio.

When he settles back in the car, Tiger assesses him. "That took long enough."

Wolfe doesn't answer him, rubbing his fingers on his swollen lower lip. When he pulls his thumb away, he sees a tiny drip of blood on it. He didn't even realize she bit him. This brings a wicked smile to his face.

"That blood?" Tiger asks, concerned.

"It is, my friend." Wolfe looks back at the studio. "I want you to find out everything you can on Mildred Thorne, Aka Red"

It doesn't take Tiger to figure why his boss needs the information. "Well I'll be damned. I didn't think she was your type." Tiger starts the car and pulls onto the street.

Neither did I, Wolfe wants to say but thoughts of Red tell him otherwise.